


Dove's DSMP Big Bang Bootcamp Submissions

by Dovesadumbass



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Murder, Wings, i will die on this hill, no beta we die like tommy in prison, techno is a nerd, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 06:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovesadumbass/pseuds/Dovesadumbass
Summary: I'm gonna try and do a chapter each week for the DSMP bootcamp in a lead up the the big bang!
Kudos: 1
Collections: DSMP Big Bang Bootcamp





	1. Week 1, Prompt 3 "excitement"

**Author's Note:**

> you can lead an author to fluff, but you cannot make her drink

‘Excitement’, yeah that’s sure as hell one word for it. Tommy didn't think it was quite the right one, but it certainly was a word. ‘Excitement’ can be when you’re getting ready for a party. ‘Excitement’ can be when you know someone is planning a surprise but don't know when. ‘Excitement’ can be when you get a great grade on a test you thought you'd flunked. Excitement comes with celebration, racing hearts and screaming laughter.

But despite the racing heart, sweaty palms, and his desire to scream, when Dream drawled the question, “Excited to see me?” Tommy was certain excitement wasn't what he felt. 

He wasn't excited to see the green blob of a man step out of the nether portal, his footsteps crunching on sand as he walked over.

He wasn't excited to throw his armor, weapons, iron, and everything that had taken him all week to painstakingly acquire into a simple two block deep hole.

He wasn't excited to see Dream pull out a flint and steel and burn all of it.

He wasn't excited when that kept happening, every, single, godforsaken, week.

He wasn't excited when dream found his small underground bunker with a few precious resources, and immediately set about destroying everything it had taken him several weeks to build.

He wasn’t excited when Dream found out he had been living with techno, underneath the pigman’s house.

He wasn't excited when that very same pigman allied with dream to destroy L’manberg, Tommy’s home, everything he had worked for many, many, weeks to build, rebuild, and save.

He wasn't excited when he found Dream’s underground bunker with, or with places for, everything that everyone on the entire server held dear, poised to be held over their heads or destroyed.

He wasn't excited when he put everything he had on him in a chest outside Dream’s cell.

He wasn't excited walking across a small, moving bridge towards Dream.

He wasn't excited when he felt the warmth of the lava closing behind him, trapping him with Dream.

He wasn't excited when the alarms went off, signaling a security breach, and ensuring he would be trapped with Dream for up to a week.

He wasn't excited any day that week, trapped with no company except the man who had caused him nothing but pain.

He felt the lump of not-excitement grow in the back of his throat when the week passed by, and Sam returned.

He was the furthest thing from excited when Sam said he would remain trapped, and dashed the hopes that had been wearing down all week.

He wasn't excited when he turned away from the lava and saw Dream grinning, broadly, before laughing at him.

He wasn't excited, pressing himself back into a corner, when he saw his last half of a heart flash before his eyes, backlit by the same broad grin on Dream’s face.

He wasn't excited when his worst fears were confirmed by hearing Wilbur’s voice greeting him in the afterlife, inviting him to play a terrifying game that definitely wasn't solitaire.

And then he woke up. ‘Waking up’ is far too gentle a phrase for resurrection. He felt like his entire being, his very  _ soul _ , was being burnt to ash and then reformed. It hurt worse than dying had, and lasted longer. And when he got back, all his nerves were on fire, all his senses dialed up to ten, his own voice felt too loud and overwhelmingly wrong in his head. He felt his sweaty palms, and his heart beating so fast it hurt, and the desire to scream, but he knew he didn't feel excited, and he wasn't sure if he would ever feel excited again.


	2. Week 2, prompt 3, "tranquility"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this week's prompt was 'Tranquility' and i think i actually managed to write fluff this time!
> 
> this was super fun to write and can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic, whatever suits your fancy

Techno looks up from his book for a moment, hearing the rustling of his partner’s wings as he sits down.

Phil sets a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of techno, taking a careful sip from his own mug before setting it down. Techno lifts his book slightly, anticipating the other’s movements, which happen exactly as expected, the blond folding his wings down and shifting to rest his head on techno’s chest and half sit, half lay, between the other’s side and the back of their small couch. Techno smiles slightly, the change more visible in his eyes than his lips as he moves one hand to run through soft feathers, and his other turns a well-worn page. He continues reading over his friend’s head for a moment, before being interrupted.

“Whatcha reading?” Phil doesn't bother trying to read the pages himself to guess, not able to recognize half the things the other tends to read, and instead letting his eyes drift closed, comforted by the hand combing across his wing.

Techno exhales a small, almost laugh, before returning to his usual deadpan, “Sun Tzu, the art of war.”

Phil opens one eye, scans across the area of the page he can see, and despite not recognizing the words themselves, he recognizes what it definitely isn't, “Try again mate.”

Techno’s voice gets a bit quieter, “It's a history of the crossbow…”

Phil smiles and lets his eyes fall closed again, “That’s neat.”

“Yeah, it really is, it isn't the best weapon in the world, but I do appreciate it.” Techno rambles softly about how it was invented separately in multiple areas and the mechanisms running it before eventually trailing off to read. They rest like that, safe from the wars, politics, and horrors of the outside world for a few hours like this, techno with a book in one hand and the top of Phil’s wing in the other as he brushes softly through the feathers, and Phil listening to his heartbeat with his eyes closed, occasionally shifting slightly to drink his tea.

As the sun begins to set, techno’s hand begins to shake slightly in its movements, and he sets down the book. Phil sits up and turns towards him, asking a simple question with a furrow of his brows and his eyes.

Techno nods, sips the last of his tea, and stands up. He turns back once to make eye contact with Phil, his gaze softening for a moment.

Techno grabs his crown and cloak, putting them both on, before walking out of the door muttering something Phil can't quite hear but knows exactly what strange chant was said. Phil sighs, he knew this would happen at some point, it always seems to, his friend’s nightly routine of slaughtering every monster he can find keeping them safe, but he always seems to return a little fiercer than he left. A little harsher maybe, a reminder that somewhere within the soft history and english nerd who drinks tea, and wears reading glasses, is a blood god that terrifies almost the entire server. 

Phil shakes his head, no use focusing on it, it isn't anything he can judge or question. He sips his own tea, glancing out the window to appreciate the sunset. As he drains the cup he stands, grabbing techno’s mug as well, before walking to the sink in the attached kitchen, carefully washing the mugs and setting them on the drying rack next to him. He shakes the residual water off of his hands and opens a cabinet, removing a matchbook and some oil. 

He lights one match carefully and begins with the lantern in the kitchen, the one he can easily pick up and carry with him. He lights the wick in the center, and adds a small amount of oil to the basin around it, not that very much is needed, with this being his own nightly routine. He uses that lantern to see as he travels through the darkened house using matches and adding oil to light lamps, and closing over windows with heavy blinds where he needs to. By the time the entire house is lit, the once barely half full matchbook is nearly two-thirds of the way gone, and every lamp has plenty of oil. 

His wings ruffle as he hears the quiet sound of the door downstairs opening, and heavy footsteps enter. He walks to the main room, making eye contact with Techno before walking past him to the kitchen. Techno follows him inside. Phil sets the lamp down and grabs a washcloth before turning the sink on and wetting the cloth. He finally turns towards techno, who had removed his cloak and crown on the way in. He gently runs the cloth across techno’s face first and then his hands. When he rinses the cloth, the water falling off of it is varying shades of red and brown. He uses the cloth again, carefully brushing across a new wound on techno’s shoulder, open and bloody, the shape of an arrowhead and luckily shallow. Once the scrape is clean, he pulls the sleeve away enough to wrap it with a cloth bandage he had left out for the purpose and leans back to look Techno in the eyes.

“Let's go to bed now.” he rests a hand on his partner’s shoulder, clasping his hand and leading them out of the kitchen.

“Yeah… sleep.” techno agrees softly.


End file.
